


Everyone is a moon

by cooperjones2020



Series: The Beast Within [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: BDSM, Consensual, Dark Betty, Dark Jughead, Dom Jughead, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Instability, Porn With Plot, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooperjones2020/pseuds/cooperjones2020
Summary: Betty baits Jughead into going full dark, no stars. Real dark. Real kinky. Real consensual. You’ve been warned.





	Everyone is a moon

**Author's Note:**

> As with all the fics in this series, Jughead is v. dark and creepy. Only here, Betty’s the one to draw it out of him.
> 
> I want to put a warning label as long as my arm on this thing, but I trust you all to know that this is fiction and not to judge me. Just please heed the tags.

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.”—Mark Twain

 

 

 

Betty leans over the pool table, scissoring her legs to give her the leverage to hit the ball on the far side. It doesn’t help that she’s got a leather skirt the size of a band aid covering her ass. She scratches.

The large tattooed man she’s playing with — Gator — gives her a condescending smile before smoothly sinking his last ball. She hasn’t seen him before tonight. Probably a trucker passing through. They come in sometimes. But a Serpent wouldn’t do for her plan to work.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. Why won’t you take this twenty and go get us another round of drinks while I re-rack.” He holds the folded bill between his index and middle fingers, making her come up close to him to reach it. His eyes slide down to her cleavage, on full display in the sleeveless blue button-up she’s tied just above her belly button.

“My pleasure.” She smirks at him, pressing her shoulders back as she turns.

As she crosses the room to the bar, she feels the eyes of the Serpents on her. Not the way they usually are, quick glances that bounce off of her like snowflakes, as if they’re afraid Jughead will catch them looking. He’d lost control once and now the guys give him a wide berth. The Serpent Prince had earned his name.

But Jughead’s not here now. Some use it as an excuse to drink her in, staring until she has to steel herself not to flinch under their eyes. Others look concerned, worried for the peppy blonde girl, so clearly out of her depth in a biker bar. Still others’ stares are hard and accusatory. Reminding her that they’ve never trusted her, daring her to get herself into trouble without Jughead here to bail her out.

That’s what she’s waiting for. For Jughead to catch her. He should have been here half an hour ago.

 

After the Chuck incident, she tried to put a lid on Dark Betty. But the more she tried to confine her, the better she got at escaping.

That is, until one day she found Jughead’s journals. With FP still in jail awaiting trial, the trailer became their safe space, their sanctuary. Every afternoon she could get away, every weekend day her mother would spare, Betty would rush to the trailer, and Jughead would be there waiting. Sometimes they just did homework, or watched TV, or talked. Passing their burdens back and forth. Often she would cook for him, and they would pretend they were somewhere far away, spinning castles in the air, dreaming of a new life. But they were still teenagers, hormones and all. In that trailer, Betty learned how to please him. And she learned how she liked to be touched.

On a cold afternoon in early November, Betty laid on Jughead’s childhood bed, watching his hands run all over her, watching him memorize her body.

Watching him shoot nervous glances toward the bookshelf beside his bed. She craned her neck to see what he was looking at.

It was a little dark blue journal, much like her own pink one, with the corner of a photo peaking out between its pages. She leaned up and grabbed it before he could stop her.

The photo was of her. Of her sleeping. And it had been taken by someone inside her bedroom. She lay splayed on her stomach, the blankets pulled down to her calves. Betty could see the curve of one of her ass cheeks peaking out of the cheer shorts she slept in. She normally put her hair in a messy bun before bed, but in the photo someone had pulled it down and fanned it across her pillow.

She remembered that night, a few weeks prior—she tried not to sleep in her cheer shorts, always wanted to wash off the sweat from practice before bed. But that night Cheryl had kept them late and she was so tired by the time she got home, ate dinner, finished her homework, that she’d crashed. And then she’d been so confused when she woke in the morning and her hair tie was on the nightstand beside her.

She should have felt repulsed. She should have felt scared. Her sweet, gentle, caring boyfriend was sneaking into her bedroom at night to manipulate her body like a doll and take her picture.

Instead, she felt excited. She glanced up at Jughead. He looked trapped, like she’d backed him into a corner. His eyes kept flicking from her face to the door.

“Turnabout’s fair play, right? I mean, you read mine.” He swallowed and nodded. She reached out to grab his hand with one of her own and eagerly turned the pages. Eventually, she got so absorbed, she drew her hand back so she could flip through his entries more quickly.

This journal was relatively new—the first entry dated from July. He talked of his lonely summer without her, and without Archie. Of going days only talking to Pop and to himself in his writing. He wrote of his anger, of something within his chest he struggled to control. He wrote of stalking her. Of breaking into her room when she was there and when she wasn’t. Of the things he secretly longed to do to her.

As she read, Betty felt a weight lifting off of her. Jughead knew some of her darkness. She thought she knew all of his. She was wrong.

He had curled in on himself while she scanned the pages, his elbows resting on his thighs. He chewed on the corner of his thumbnail and avoided all her attempts to catch his eyes.

So she placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back until she could swing a leg on either side of his hips. She kissed him with a hunger she hadn’t realized she’d been repressing.

 

That was the day she discovered how to control Dark Betty. Or, rather, that Jughead could control Dark Betty. A regular diet of Jughead’s obsession and his depredation and the fugue states stopped. Her anger stayed in its box and her nails stayed out of her palms.

But Dark Betty escaped today. Betty remembers  _why_  she’s here, remembers the process of getting ready and driving here, the steps she laid out ahead of time. She just doesn’t remember making the decision to come. Or the decision to delete the draft of Jughead’s novel off his laptop.

They work because their darkness balances. Like the controlled release of a bomb. But Jughead has been slacking on his responsibilities. Apparently, Dark Betty had decided to remind him. They’d both been so busy lately, Jughead hadn’t had time for anything more than a quick fuck late at night before they both fell into bed, exhausted. And she needed him. She couldn’t control the darkness inside herself without him. She thought they had that in common, that they were equals in that way.

She’s worried that maybe now he wants them to be normal. Well, she was trying to be normal for him. Dark Betty wouldn’t let her.

 

When she returns with the beers, she watches him take a long pull out of his as she places hers on the windowsill behind her.

“So what brings you to Riverdale,” she swallows, “Gator?”

“Doin’ a long haul job, Orlando to Montreal. Gotta get them oranges up to the Canucks.” He smiles, and she can see a silver cap on one of his molars.

They play another game, during which he grows increasingly bold. He offers to help her correct her stance, the way she holds her stick, and when he passes behind her, his hand grazes her ass. He smells like stale beer and unshowered male. Both odors, she surmises, are accurate.

“What do you say we take a break? Maybe grab a drink and get to know each other a little better?”

Betty’s heart sinks into her stomach. The clock’s run out and Jughead didn’t show. But she tries to smile, tries to seem like nothing’s wrong. “Sure. Why don’t you find a table while I run to the ladies’ room?”

She grabs her purse and makes a beeline for the dark hallway behind the bar. She swallows the tears that threaten and gets ready to call Jughead and tell him what she did.

As she passes a doorway, someone grabs her wrist and yanks her inside. Whoever it is presses her face against the door and twists her arm up behind her back until she winces. A blanket of fear alights on her stomach. Maybe she went too far. Maybe one of the Serpents…

When he speaks, every bone inside her melts. “Sometimes I think you have a death wish.”

“Juggie?”

His voice is rough in her ear and it send shivers down her spine. “I’ve been watching you. You were so distracted by your new boy toy, you didn’t even notice me across the bar when you got that drink. Tut tut.” He lets go of her and she turns around.

“You’ve been here that long? And you waited?” Before she knows what she’s doing, she slaps him. “You sick fuck.”

He smiles but it’s foreign on his face. Not the way he usually looks at her. Lethal. “That was a mistake, little girl.”

His hand wraps around her throat. She scrambles to wrap both of hers around his wrist. That strong and elegant hand that around the back of her neck felt like safety, security, home, now, wrapped around the front, feels like danger and excitement, and a hunger she’s desperate to sate.

He doesn’t squeeze, but instead uses his grip to pull her head forward so he can kiss her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth until she cannot help but yield to him.

When he releases her, she already feels a bit calmer, a bit more settled. A new softness in his jawline indicates that he does too. She rests her forehead against his and lets out a deep exhale. She’d been more wound up than she realized.

“I was getting a little bit scared. I was in over my head and I didn’t know if the Serpents—”

“They would have. And I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“Except you.”

“Isn’t that how this game works, Betty?” And just like that, something inside her sizzles like electricity.

He tilts her head back and spits in her mouth. “Will you play with me?” She nods. “Good.” He dips his thumb in her mouth and swirls it around her tongue. Then he uses their saliva to smear her lipstick onto her cheek before pulling on her lower lip. “Such a pretty girl.”

Betty’s already feeling light-headed, fuzzy. As if she’s drifting somewhere outside herself. As if he’s fixing all the broken places so her body will be ready to hold her again.

Jughead grabs her wrists in one of his hands and lifts her arms over her head, tilting them back until she loses her balances and falls against the door of the storage closet he’s dragged her into with a dull thud, the knob digging into her ass. But Jughead leans over her, something feral in his eyes. He uses his free hand to yank on her top, untying it and popping the buttons open until he spreads it on either side of her and feasts his eyes on her breasts in the black, lacy balconette she’d chosen for tonight.

He releases her and steps back. “Take it off.”

She rushes to comply. When he holds a hand out, she gives him the bra.

“Good, now let’s go home.” He drops it behind a metal storage cart. “You can pick that up tomorrow.”

She gapes at him. He nods at her shirt, where she’s balled it up and tossed it onto a table. “You can tie it, but no buttons.”

She’s dripping wet. And by the way Jughead looks at her when she presses her legs together, he knows it.

When she’s dressed again, sort of, he takes her by the hand and leads her out the back of the Whyte Wyrm.

If she wasn’t cold before, now in just her mini skirt and tank top, she’s freezing. On his bike, she presses her chest against his back and she’s sure he can feel her nipples through the leather that protects him.

When they get home, they don’t bother with the lights. They both kick their shoes off and move down the hallway, fused together. He runs her into a wall and her shoulder knocks a picture frame to the floor. They step over it and keep going.

In the bedroom, he kisses her again, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

She reaches forward to unzip his pants, but he stops her. “Nuh-uh. I don’t think you deserve that yet.”

“Please, just let me—”

“I said no.” So she stands there, a little deflated, and watches him undress her.

When she’s naked in the centre of the room and he’s still fully clothed, as she fights the urge to cover herself, he says, “That’s better, isn’t it? Now let’s play a game called how good is Betty’s memory.”

She swallows. “Okay.”

“How many times do you think your new friend touched you tonight?”

“Um, five times?” Uh oh. As much as this side of Jughead can make her nervous, she also craves it. When he’s so cold and detached, when he looks like he can see right through her, that’s when she trusts that he will take care of her. That he’ll give her what she needs. Because sometimes she frightens herself. But she never frightens him.

“Wrong. He touched you eleven times. And that’s just after I arrived. Now, how many words of my work did you delete?”

She definitely doesn’t know this. “Seventy thousand?”

“Wrong again. You deleted ninety-five thousand words.”

Tears flood her eyes. “Juggie, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I know I can’t fix it, but can I make it up to you somehow?”

He chuckles at her as he removes his own shirt. “We’re certainly going to let you try. Why did you do that Betty? What did you think would happen when I found out you’d messed with my computer, when I found you showing your ass off to someone else?” He steps up behind her so he’s talking into her hair. She can feel the rough material of his jeans brush against her ass. She wants to lean back to find out if he’s hard yet, if this is affecting him as much as it is her, but she knows he wouldn’t like that.

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. What did you want to happen?”

Betty closes her eyes and whispers, “I wanted you to hurt me.”

“That’s right. But maybe I shouldn’t let you get what you want. Maybe I should just let you suck my cock and then come all over your face and let you sleep in it.” She whimpers and forces herself to nod. “But I’m too selfish for that. I’m not going to sleep until I feel the velvet heat of your cunt around me. Until I’ve rubbed you raw, inside and out. So here’s what you’re going to do for me.” He comes back around to face her. “You’re going to touch your tits.”Her hands move without any input from her brain. “Now twist your nipples.” She does. “Good. Now I want you to pinch them so hard they turn white.”

She just stands there. It feels different somehow, to do it to herself. She wants him to take the control from her. She doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to willfully offer it up. Jughead shakes his head. “I thought you were serious.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re not, I can just go back to work—”

“No!”

“You want me to hurt you? Prove it.”

“What?”

“I told you to pinch your nipples.” She squeezes. He watches her as he removes his pants and boxers.

“Harder.”

She does until tears spring to her eyes.

“Good girl.” That horrible perfectionist inside her preens at the compliment. She closes her eyes and bites her lip, trying to concentrate on the pain that sends shock waves down to her pussy. Then Jughead pulls her hands off and captures one peak in his mouth, sucking, and the sudden influx of blood makes her gasp. He wraps his hands around her waist, forcing her to bow her back until she’s afraid she’s going to fall.

But at the last second, he spins them and pulls her onto the bed on top of him. He slides up the bed and she crawls on top of him, trying to follow. With every jostle, his cock brushes against her centre and she wants to scream.

When his head lands on the pillow, she leans back and begins to gyrate against him, desperate now.

“Please, please…” She doesn’t know anymore what she’s asking for.

He slaps her thigh and after a moment she realizes he’s telling her to get up on her knees. He slips a hand between them and angles his cock up, before gripping her hips and slamming her down on him. Now, she does scream.

He doesn’t thrust, but wraps both hands around her, thumbs rubbing her hip bones, and urges her to move.

“That’s it, baby girl. Take what you need from me.” His fingers are tight and she knows she’ll have bruises. She welcomes the pain. Her nails carve small half moons into his pecs, a matching set to the scars on her own palms.

But the sting must make him impatient. He begins thrusting upward with his hips and pulling her down at the same time, setting a brutal rhythm. Every time her clit hits his pubic bone she shudders. She’s on top, but he’s controlling the pace, the angle. He’s controlling her. And it’s as if by controlling her body, he can reach any remaining piece of her soul that remains unconquered. And she wants him to have that. She wants him to have every splintered, bleeding part of her. Tears begin to slip out of her eyes. She sees them drip off her face and land on her hands, on his chest.

When her shaking intensifies, when she’s so close, he pushes her off him and bites her shoulder as he reenters her from behind. Betty cries out at the sharp sting of teeth but  _god_  she wants it. She wants him to bite her all over until her back is a mess of mangled tissue. She must have been speaking out loud because he does. Every bit of her he can reach, biting and dragging his teeth against the aching flesh. She sobs at the intensity and an orgasm slams into her without warning.

Jughead keeps pounding away inside of her, like a meat tenderizer against her pussy. She’s crying in earnest now. She never wants him to stop.

But he does. He pulls out and paints her back in hot, sticky ropes of come. A masterpiece. Then he collapses beside her and drags her on top of him.

And her sweet boyfriend is back. Dark Betty, banished back to her hiding place. 

“Next time you find yourself spiralling, I want you to promise you’ll tell me. Preferably before you start deleting things off my laptop.” Betty nods into the wet spot she’s left on his chest. “You’re lucky you know I keep a back up on my external.” Yes, she’s  _damn_  lucky Dark Betty remembered that. If she did.

They throw all the darkness into the black hole they create between them until it burns itself up and winks out of existence. Until the next time.

 

Later, she’s laying across his lap and he’s tracing her back, running his fingers in and out of the grooves of his teeth marks.

“Let me see.”

“Betty, no.”

“I want to see it Juggie.” He sighs, reaching over to flick the lamp on before slipping his arms under hers, pulling her up so her chest rests against his, and she can twist and see her back in the mirror across from the foot of their bed.

It’s a web of raised red and white ridges. Her eyes follow the hills and valleys of her damaged skin.

“I’m sorry I got carried away. The noises you were making—”

“Don’t be. I don’t want it to ever fade. I want you indeliblyinked onto my skin, a tattoo that scientists years from now could use to resurrect your exact dentition.” She wants to wear Jughead Jones’s darkness like a cloak to hide her own.

“We could do that.”

“How?”

“I mean, I know you have your crown. And we probably shouldn’t do anything like that again. It’s a miracle you didn’t get tetanus the first time. But maybe a tattoo, if you wanted.”

“Yes. Yes, I want. Do you? Would you want that?”

He gives her a look that would melt steel. “Betts, I’d do everything short of tagging you with ‘Jughead Jones wuz here’ if I could.”

She smiles and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “Where?”

He slips his hand back underneath her, coming to rest where the curve of her breast runs into the skin of her back. His thumb presses into a particularly deep bite mark and she hisses. “Here.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know that post that floats around tumblr of the Ao3 tag that says something like ‘I know I’M going to hell for writing this but YOU’RE all going with me for reading it? That’s how I feel about this.


End file.
